


Not Another Songfic

by Entropyrose



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Curtain Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Ridiculousness, Songfic, vigilante husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 06:49:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10691931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: Perhaps worse than being forced to dance in a kitchen that smells of lentils and raw chicken is having to admit that Matt actually doesn’t mind it.Or, Frank purposefully loves to annoy the shit out of his husband by playing "For the Longest Time" and making him dance to it. And yes, Frank "The Punisher" Castle dances.





	Not Another Songfic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amaria_Anna_D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaria_Anna_D/gifts).



> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_XgQhMPeEQ
> 
> I highly recommend you listen to this song: For the Longest Time, by Billy Joel while reading. It's ridiculous and catchy and appropriate. A huge shout-out to @amaria_anna_d for coming up with the perfect silly song.
> 
> Written for @Amaria_Anna_D

[](http://s611.photobucket.com/user/Jamie_Lyn_Gaskin/media/IMG_20170421_155526_zpslo3w11tk.jpg.html)

“No...Frank, no please no.” 

It’s not his voice: that satiny gravel at the back of Frank’s throat is a pleasant rumble and the man  _ can  _ actually carry a tune. It’s the song. The goddamned song. The  _ motherfucking song.  _

He is pulls away sharply, turning on one heel and digging in, not that it will do him any good. He is holding both posts of the door frame in either hand, the tall man’s arms clamped around his waist and dragging him backwards toward the center of their tiny kitchen. “Frank.” Matt levels his voice, making sure to sound as threatening as possible while still keeping his cool. “Frank,  _ I MEAN IT.”  _

They had been in the middle of preparing dinner when apparently a big bug crawled up Frank ass, because he slipped the CD in without Matt knowing until it was too late; the play button was pressed, the volume turned up. This was happening and there was nothing Matt could do to stop it. 

“C’mon baby,” Frank whines, the playful lilt in his voice telling Matt that right now, he is sporting a shit-eating grin. He levels his lips to Matt’s ear, humming along with the song as it plays.

_ If you said goodbye to me tonight _

_ There would still be music left to write _

_ What else could I do? I’m so inspired by you _

_ That hasn’t happened for the longest time _

“Nope. No. Uh-uh.” Matt jams his foot around the doorpost for leverage even as the other leg is pulled back and it feels like Frank is trying to twist it up over his head. 

“C’mon Red! Whoo-oooah-ooooo….!” 

“I hate you so fucking much,” Matt grumbles as he feels his grip weaken. Strong fingers flattening against his rib cage and a booted foot wrenches his leg off the door, effectively propelling him backwards into Frank’s brick-solid chest. 

“Aw yer breakin’ my heart. Really. You don’t wanna dance with your old man?” 

Matt paws the counter, the only weapon available a wooden spoon, the end of which has been doused heavily with spaghetti sauce. He raises it, waving it menacingly in front of Frank’s face and it earns him a dark chuckle. “Back off!,” he barks. A grin is tugging on the corner of his mouth and he bites down on the inside, trying for his most believable scowl. 

_ Once I thought my innocence was gone _

_ Now I know that happiness goes on _

_ That’s when you found me  _

_ When you put your arms around me  _

_ I haven’t been there for the longest time.  _

Frank gasps theatrically, one arm still coiled around the feisty redhead as he sways to the horridly catchy beat. “You wouldn’t!,” he chides. 

“Yes I would,” Matt insists. He flicks the end of the spoon, splattering sauce onto Frank’s knotted nose and scrambles away quickly to the other side of the counter, brandishing the utensil out in front of himself with the same level of skill and precision that he would one of his bully sticks. Frank crouches not unlike an uncaged tiger, flattening both palms against the expanse of the little marble island, gearing himself up for the pounce. 

Matt feels his face flush as he considers what a sight they must make. He shakes his head sharply as if to chase away the thought and feigns left, letting out a disappointed grunt when Frank doesn’t fall for it. 

“C’mon, babe. You know me better than to think I would fall for that.” 

“--not dancing with you,” Matt reiterates as he backs around the table. His voice squeaks a little at the end, all but shattering his feigned disinterest. Frank surprises him with his stealth, even now. A side-lunge catches Matt off-guard and the trap is sprung, sending him tumbling back into the circle of Frank’s arms. 

Frank’s hand folds over the fingers that grip the spoon, holding Matt tightly against him with the other as he sashays to the poppy barbershop rhythm. “Ya might as well, because I’m not letting go until you do.” With a quirked smile, Frank levels his sauce-smeared nose with Matt’s perfectly clean face and Matt leans as far away as possible. 

“Don’t you dare.”

“Then dance with me.” 

Matt lets out a defeated huff, his shoulders dropping as the realization that he is fighting a quickly losing battle sinks in. He takes Frank’s hand, flashing him an unhappy pout that grows even darker when Frank fails to hold back a snicker. 

_ I’m that voice you’re hearing in the hall _

_ And the greatest miracle of all  _

_ Is how I need you, and how you needed me to  _

_ That hasn’t happened for the longest time. _

Perhaps worse than being forced to dance in a kitchen that smells of lentils and raw chicken is having to admit that he actually doesn’t mind it. Frank swipes a rag off the counter to clean his face, depositing it into the sink without missing a single step. His smiling lips draw closer to Matt’s, as he sweeps three-day-old stubble along Matt’s freshly shaved cheeks and hums along to the song. “Hmmm-mmm-hm-mm, for the longest time…” 

“Pretty sure we’re overcooking the noodles.” 

“Hmmm--hmmmm-mm...pretty sure I don’t care. Hmmm--hhmm-mm…” 

Matthew breaks at last, dipping his head into the collar of Frank’s fatigues, the smell of cologne and tomato and a scent that is uniquely  _ him  _ playing under his nostrils as they sway. “You are incorrigible,” he says amidst a breathy laugh. 

_ Maybe this won’t last very long  _

_ But you feel so right. I could be wrong _

_ Maybe I’ve been hoping too hard _

_ But I’ve gone this far, and it’s more than I hoped for _

_ Who knows how much further we’ll go on _

_ Maybe I’ll be sorry when you’re gone _

_ I’ll take my chances _

_ I forgot how nice romance is  _

_ I haven’t been there for the longest time  _

Had someone told him this is what would happen when he and Frank had said “I do”, he would have laughed in their face. After all, nobody is around to tell Matt what Frank was like ‘before’. Maybe Frank wasn’t ever like this--maybe this is something that only happens on a full moon or if you splash water on him. Whatever it is, Matt will take it and hold on with both hands. These moments, few and far removed from their normal way of going about things, reawakens the butterflies in Matt’s stomach. They start to flutter as he reaches up to caress the tightly-drawn line of skin over Frank’s jaw and trail his fingers over his adam’s apple, which vibrates between every note. “We really should check the stove,” he murmurs, reaching up on his tip-toes to press his lips to Frank’s temple. He steals a quick lick off the spoon and spins towards the counter. 

“Hey.” Frank tugs him back gently, capturing Matt’s mouth with his own and snaking his tongue inside. 

_ I don't care what consequence it brings _

_ I have been a fool for lesser things _

_ I want you so bad _

_ I think you ought to know that _

_ I intend to hold you for the longest time _

“Mmmmh…” It’s Matt’s turn to hum as he breaks off the kiss, absentmindedly stroking Frank’s cheekbone with his thumb and glancing upwards towards the ceiling in thought. “...needs more cilantro.” 

Frank chuckles softly, delivering a solid slap across Matt’s jean-clad ass as he turns to check the boiling concoction.


End file.
